


The Opposite of Right

by Yassandra



Category: Atlantis (UK TV)
Genre: Friendship, Gen, H/C bingo, Hurt/Comfort, Misunderstandings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-28
Updated: 2015-12-28
Packaged: 2018-05-10 00:19:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,847
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5561491
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Yassandra/pseuds/Yassandra
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The aftermath of one of Hercules' outbursts of temper can be difficult to navigate.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Opposite of Right

**Author's Note:**

> A/N This story been written for Round 6 of Bingo on the Hurt/Comfort LJ community, to incorporate the prompt 'explosion'. I hope you enjoy it :-)

Hercules has always had a temper. They all know it. He's the sort of man who will blow up quickly, puffing up with anger and indignation, exploding angrily and loudly at whoever is nearby, but calming down just as quickly; his anger draining away as rapidly as it arrives, leaving him remorseful more often than not. It's just his way. His two friends accept it as a matter of fact; as a part of his personality; a quirk no different to Pythagoras' awkward, random thoughts at inappropriate moments or Jason's habit of offering himself up for danger at every available opportunity and dragging his friends in with him.

Their unique personal quirks make it difficult for each of them to fully function independently (and certainly there aren't many people who would put up with any of them on a long term basis) but as a trio they work; muddle along haphazardly from day to day; facing both triumph and disaster on an all too frequent basis (the second one far too often) and bumbling along in the period in between just trying to make ends meet (which they don't always – and really they need to try harder to get gainful employment and a regular income because none of them want another rabid dog incident thank you very much). They are a team against the world; a unit that may bicker amongst themselves but would never hurt one another out of choice and will stand united whenever anything threatens them (will always protect one another to the best of their individual abilities). This is an immutable fact – or so it seems.

It comes as one hell of a shock, therefore, for Jason to come home from the agora one day (and it's been a good day – he's managed to persuade the baker (not the one they used to use since the aforesaid rabid dog incident – he couldn't really go back _there_ after all) to give him more bread than he had the money for; sweet talking the woman into letting him pay the extra next time around) to find Hercules towering over Pythagoras, apparently apoplectic with rage while the mathematician holds his rapidly reddening cheek.

In an instant he's crossed the room and placed himself between his friends, neither knowing or caring what has gone on between them; seeing only the consequences of Hercules' actions – the fear and anguish in Pythagoras' gentle eyes. At this distance he can smell the alcohol on Hercules' breath (nothing unusual there but somehow it seems more this time; the air is so thick with wine fumes that he can almost taste it) and as the burly wrestler lunges forwards again Jason shoves him away as hard as he can. Hercules lurches to one side briefly before staggering back again, his features twisted with fury.

"Get out of my way!" he yells.

"No," Jason answers. "I'm not going to let you hurt him."

"You don't know what you're talking about," Hercules hisses lunging forwards once more. "Now get out of my way."

Jason shoves him back a second time and this time Hercules trips over his own feet and ends up in a heap on the floor. Before he can move Jason is on him, dragging him up by the back of his tunic and shoving him towards the door; and Hercules may be immensely strong but when he's drunk he's all too easy to manoeuvre – to push towards a bed or a chair or a door (and both Jason and Pythagoras have done it with frightening regularity over the months whenever their older friend decides that being drunk is preferable to being sober – which, let's be honest, is most of the time).

"Get out!" Jason growls, pushing Hercules through the door. "And don't come back until you've sobered up and calmed down."

Before Hercules can attempt to force his way back inside Jason has slammed the door in his face and slammed the bar that they scarcely ever use into place, locking it to the outside world. On some level he still knows that this is actually Hercules' house – that he's just thrown the man out of his own home – but then he remembers the look on Pythagoras' face and any remorse he might have felt at his actions dissipates.

He turns with a sigh to find Pythagoras clearing up some broken crockery that lies in smashed shards on the floor and hurries over to help his friend. For long moments they are both silent, crouched on the floor picking up broken pieces of pot (it may once have been a wine jug – it was certainly large enough from the number of pieces – and small crimson droplets cling to the shards).

Pythagoras won't lift his head, won't meet Jason's eyes, and Jason is suddenly lost for words. After all what do you say when you suspect that one friend has physically abused another? How can life ever go back to the way it was before? Then Pythagoras hisses and brings one hand towards his chest, other hand cradling it protectively, the red blood that shows between his clenched fingers a stark contrast to the pallor of his skin.

Jason moves before either one of them really registers it, gently grabbing Pythagoras' hand and examining it carefully, dark curls bending low and brushing the tips of his friend's fingers. With one fluid movement he rises to his feet, pulling the mathematician with him, and moves back to the table, never relinquishing Pythagoras' hand. At the table he snags a jug of water and pours it over his friend's fingers, washing away the freely flowing blood and trying to flush out the wound to make sure there are no slivers of broken pottery in there, not caring that the water is splashing on the floor (splashing on their feet, toe to toe, almost touching) or that he will have to clean it up later; trying to dredge up half-forgotten first aid lessons (forced upon him in secondary school, unwanted at the time – although he is grateful for them now) from the recesses of his memory. There is a reason that they usually let Pythagoras tend to any injuries picked up by any of them (and more often than not Jason has to admit that the injured party is him). The mathematician is a halfway decent healer and neither one of his friends can really come close to competing with him; have rudimentary skills at best.

Still, if Jason doesn't know herb-lore (cannot tell comfrey from hemlock or marjoram from rue), he does at least know how to clean and bind a wound. With deep concentration he examines the slice that runs across Pythagoras' left index and middle fingers (the young genius must have caught them on one of the shards as he picked them up). The cuts are deeper than Jason would like but at least they seem clean now, although fresh blood wells up to obscure them; ruby droplets that drip from the end of Pythagoras' fingers to lie like liquid jewels on the floor. Jason runs a little more water over Pythagoras' damaged digits and reaches for the cleanest cloth he can see, pressing it down hard against his friend's fingers and flinching in silent apology at the young genius' resultant hiss.

"Jason it is fine," Pythagoras' voice sounds thick and tired; muffled and emotional.

"No," Jason responds and finds his own voice is hoarser than he would like it to be. He clears his throat and tries again. "Let me do this… let me fix this… please." He is almost begging but can't bring himself to care because this is Pythagoras damn it and he deserves to have someone looking after him for a change (and if Jason is really talking about something other than the cuts he is currently tending to neither of them openly acknowledge it).

"You cannot fix everything," Pythagoras asserts, gently pulling his injured hand away from Jason's and grabbing the cloth with his uninjured one, clearly intent on tending to himself. He sounds weary and defeated, and infinitely sad.

"I can try," Jason says.

Pythagoras huffs a bitter laugh, no more than a blown out breath really, and Jason feels something inside himself shrivel in response.

"Let it go," Pythagoras says and Jason knows that he isn't talking about his wounded fingers.

Jason doesn't respond verbally. He does, however, raise gentle fingers to his friend's face, tracing them lightly over the redness that still mars Pythagoras' cheek, eyes probing and intent as he tries to tilt the blonde's face to the light to get a better look at the damage; to check that Pythagoras isn't badly harmed.

Pythagoras pulls away like a shying horse.

"Let it go," he repeats.

"He hurt you," Jason responds.

"I hurt him," Pythagoras answers cryptically, "but he did not hurt me."

"Pythagoras," Jason begins.

"Leave it be," Pythagoras says, almost crossly. "It really is none of your business."

He pushes past Jason and stomps into his own room in a most un-Pythagoras-like manner, wrenching the curtain closed behind himself and leaving his friend in no doubt whatsoever that he most definitely wants to be left alone.

Once he has gone Jason sinks down onto the bench beside the table, looking almost blankly ahead of himself, good mood long since evaporated (the bread he had charmed out of the baker just a short time earlier lying discarded and forgotten on the top of the chest where he had dumped it in his haste to get between Hercules and Pythagoras) and wonders what the hell happened to cause the chaos of the last ten minutes.

* * *

It's very late when Hercules finally slinks back in through the door. Pythagoras hasn't come out of his room since he retreated in there after cutting his hand. As the shadows lengthened Jason had lit the lamps in the hope that it would encourage his mathematically inclined friend to venture back out (he is even willing to try to ignore the proverbial elephant in the room for now if Pythagoras will just come back out and talk to him) but Pythagoras has been frustratingly obstinate for hours (and Jason has been left wondering, with an uncomfortable moment of insight, if this is how his friends feel about him whenever he digs his heels in over something – which is all too often lately).

Hercules creeps in as quietly as a man of his stature can manage (which is actually surprisingly quietly – for a big man he can be remarkably light on his feet when he wants to be). He glances around the room and notes the absence of both supper and Pythagoras with a sigh. Then a soft sound makes him jump involuntarily and he spins around to find a pair of dark eyes burning into him.

Jason is sitting in the darkness, the lamps burning low, nursing a cup of something or other, and Hercules wants to ask if it's wine and if he'd be willing to share but, given the scene earlier and the look on his friend's face now, wisely chooses to hold his tongue. He opens his mouth to say something (although _what_ he can say under the circumstances he's not quite sure) but Jason gestures towards Hercules' room with one curt gesture and Hercules has to admit to himself that his young friend is probably right – they need to be somewhere where they can have a private chat and Hercules' room is the only one with a door (nice and thick to muffle conversation).

Hercules turns and makes his way over, feeling Jason's eyes boring into his back the whole way. The room is disturbingly silent as the young man closes the door softly behind himself. He turns and goes to lean against the table, arms folded, glaring darkly, and his whole posture screaming his anger at his friend.

"Why?" Jason says it quietly; dangerously quietly. It's only one word but it conveys everything he needs to say right now.

"What did Pythagoras tell you?" Hercules hedges.

If anything Jason's expression darkens, informing his friend of just how little he thinks of the big man's attempts at evasion.

"Not much," he admits a little reluctantly. "He's been in his room for hours. Wouldn't come out to have anything to eat. He doesn't seem to want to talk to anyone." The look he shoots at Hercules can only be described as murderous.

Hercules winces visibly.

"Are you sober now?" Jason continues in the same dangerous tone. "Are you willing to talk like a rational human being or do I need to throw you out again?"

Hercules snorts.

"I'd like to see you try," he mutters.

"Don't tempt me," Jason answers darkly.

"I think you're forgetting that this is my house." Hercules' bluster has never worked before so why he should think it will now is anybody's guess.

"And I think you're forgetting that it was Pythagoras who paid off your gambling debts and saved your house from being taken from you." Jason has heard the story too many times to forget it now. "And don't even try to say that you've paid him back because we both know you haven't, no matter how much you might have meant to."

Hercules deflates instantly.

"No," he says. "No I haven't." He snorts bitterly. "I've been foolish. Very, very foolish. I've gambled and I've lost… but Pythagoras shouldn't have to pay the price."

"We're agreed on that then," Jason answers sharply. "Pythagoras does not deserve to have to deal with your problems and he certainly doesn't deserve to have to deal with your drunken anger." If anything his eyes grow even harder. "If you _ever_ so much as lay a finger on him again I _will_ hurt you. That isn't a threat… it's a promise."

Hercules looks aghast.

"You think _I_ hurt Pythagoras?" he says. "I could never lay a finger on that boy… he's the only family I've got."

"I think I came home to find Pythagoras with you looming over him," Jason answers, his voice brittle. "He was clutching his cheek where he'd obviously been hit and you kept lunging towards him even after I'd got in between you and shoved you away. I never thought I'd have to do that. You know his past as well as I do. You what his father was… what his father did. I don't care what Pythagoras did or said… I don't care how drunk you were… I _will not_ let you hurt him."

"I can see how it must have looked," Hercules says. "But it wasn't like that."

"Really," Jason retorts. "So how was it then? Tell me, just how you plan on justifying hitting Pythagoras?"

"It wasn't me," Hercules growls. He sees Jason's dark and disbelieving look he continues. "I might have had a couple too many to drink," he says.

"More than a couple too many," Jason spits back but motions for Hercules to go on.

"Pythagoras had gone to the library," Hercules states. "When he got back he was all dishevelled… well, more dishevelled than usual. He kept trying to hide his face from me but when he turned around I could see that someone had smacked him a good one."

"That doesn't explain why I ended up having to push you away from him," Jason says.

Hercules swallows.

"No," he says. "It doesn't."

An uncomfortable silence develops between them. Finally Hercules breaks it.

"I wasn't so drunk that I couldn't see that someone had attacked Pythagoras," he mutters. "And I wasn't about to let _anyone_ get away with that! I tried to ask him who'd done it but you know what Pythagoras is like when he doesn't want to tell you something. I might have got a bit angry at him." Hercules pauses and sighs. "I just wanted him to tell me the truth. I wanted to shake it out of him if I had to… but I swear to you that I didn't. I may have raised my voice a bit but that's all I did." He pauses again. "I pushed him too far," he admits, "and he lost his temper with me. Said that it was all my fault… me and my gambling; said it was just like what happened with Kyros and Medusa; implied that it was all my fault that she was cursed." Hercules breaks off in anguish.

Jason almost winces. Medusa is a touchy subject at the best of times and he bears more than his own share of guilt for what happened to her. After all he had known the myth of Pandora's Box. He had also known what Medusa's fate would be and had singularly failed to prevent it despite his fore-knowledge.

"I don't think I've ever been so angry at Pythagoras," Hercules admits. "For him to throw that in my face… I just wanted to know who'd attacked him. That was when you walked in."

"Answer me one thing," Jason says. "If I hadn't come in when I did what would you have done? Would you have tried to force him to talk physically?"

"No," Hercules grinds out forcefully. "I'd sooner cut off my own arm than raise a hand to Pythagoras."

Jason sits back on the table, inexplicable relief coursing through him.

"Why didn't he tell me what happened?" He murmurs. "He must have known what I was thinking."

Hercules comes and sits down next to his friend.

"Who knows what goes on in Pythagoras' head," he points out. "Although, if I had to guess, I'd say it was probably a mixture of guilt over what he'd said and embarrassment at being attacked in the first place."

Jason nods, half to himself. Then he shoots an acute look at his older friend.

"What are we going to do about it?" he asks.

"Nothing," Hercules retorts.

Jason frowns, his face darkening with anger once more.

"I'm not going to let someone get away with hurting Pythagoras," he says hotly.

Hercules half smiles.

"I never thought you would," he says. "You don't have to do anything though. It's dealt with."

Jason looks startled. He stares at Hercules for a moment. Hercules has never looked more serious, his eyes darkened with rage – although Jason is aware that it is not aimed at _him_.

"What did you do?" he asks mildly.

"Best if you don't know," Hercules answers.

"You took care of whoever it was though?"

Hercules' half smile widens momentarily, his eyes becoming unusually vicious. It is not an expression that Jason has ever seen on his face before (and hopes never to see again if the truth be told).

"Oh yes," he says. "I took care of him. Once I'd sobered up a bit I asked a few questions here and there. There's this man that I borrowed some money off to cover a couple of gambling debts. It was months ago now… before you got here. I couldn't afford to pay it back all in one go so I've been paying him off a bit at a time. Anyway it seems he's got a bit impatient and decided to send me a message by roughing up Pythagoras… He won't be making that mistake again."

"You're sure?" Jason can't help but ask.

"Completely sure," Hercules growls. "He won't be hurting anyone I care about again."

Jason narrows his eyes and stares at Hercules, taking in for the first time the fact that the shoulder of his tunic has a new tear in it and the blood stains on his hands; the knuckles of his right hand split and bruised. He wonders briefly just what it is that Hercules has done to ensure Pythagoras' safety and then decides that actually the big man is right – he really doesn't want to know.

"Good," he says.

Hercules smiles again.

"Have you eaten?" he asks. "Because I could eat a horse."

Jason barks a short, incredulous laugh. Trust Hercules to think about food even after everything that's happened today.

"No," he admits. He looks apologetically at his older friend as they begin to make their way to the door. "Sorry I threw you out," he says.

Hercules waves it off magnanimously with a wave of his meaty hand.

"Forgiven and forgotten," he says. "I'd probably have done the same in your position."

When they get to the kitchen Pythagoras is waiting for them. He stands on the far side of the table, staring at Hercules with a mixture of sorrow and guilt in his blue eyes. Hercules marches purposefully over until he is within touching distance, then reaches out and tilts his friend's face, examining the growing bruise on Pythagoras' cheekbone with serious eyes and gentle fingers, probing to make sure that there is no serious damage beneath the surface. Surprisingly Pythagoras lets him do it.

"Hercules," Pythagoras begins softly. "For what I said… for what it is worth… I am sorry."

Hercules sighs and pulls his blonde friend in for a one armed hug.

"Apology accepted," he says. "And I'm sorry too. I'm aware that this whole situation is at least partially my fault." He pauses as he sees his two friends looking at him incredulously. "Mostly my fault," he amends. "I've been foolish. Very, very foolish. You should never have been in a position where you might get hurt because of me."

Pythagoras blushes slightly.

"Yes… well… we should have some supper," he says with embarrassment. "Did I see that you had brought bread?" He looks at Jason as he speaks.

Jason blinks.

"Erm… yeah," he answers. "It's… erm…" he looks around to try to remember where he left the loaf in his hurry to get between his two friends earlier. "It's over there," he says as he spots it. "I'll just get it."

As Jason moves towards the door to retrieve the loaf from the top of the chest where he had abandoned it, Pythagoras turns to Hercules with an apologetic smile which morphs into a frown as he spots his friend's knuckles.

With a sharp exclamation he pulls Hercules closer to the table and the lamp, using the light to examine the bruises and cuts on his old friend's hand.

"How did you do this?" he asks.

"I fell against something while I was drunk," Hercules answers with his patented 'honest' expression (an expression which never fails to make people suspicious).

"Fell against what?" Pythagoras asks, continuing his examination. "Is this a tooth mark?"

"Accidentally punched a horse in the teeth," Hercules states unconvincingly.

"A horse," Pythagoras says flatly, clearly disbelieving. " _Really_?"

In the background Jason rolls his eyes.

"You couldn't have gone with injuring it in a bar fight?" he mutters under his breath. He knows that he struggles to make up convincing lies but Hercules really should get some sort of award for unconvincing excuses.

"Yeah," Hercules mutters. "It was a big horse… very fierce."

Pythagoras rolls his eyes.

"Come on then. Let me treat these wounds and then we can have dinner." He pauses and gives Hercules a shrewd look. "Thank you," he says.

 


End file.
